


Lies and Damn Lies

by Thy_Undertaker



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, False Identity, Slow Build, Smut, Theft, Violence, add as i go, explicit violence, fake name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thy_Undertaker/pseuds/Thy_Undertaker
Summary: You took a job as a dancer and misfortune seems to follow you one crazy twisted night that seems like a faraway dream that leads you into the life of a rugged but handsome outlaw and his band of misfits but also straight into a past you didn't even know existed.





	Lies and Damn Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I have had an urge to write this and I finally did. It is not proofread since I am posting this at 2am after preparing for presentations for a week straight so enjoy!

“Yeah, that was me. What of it?” You asked the rather short man standing before you suspiciously. He barely came up to your shoulders and had small black eyes with greased back black hair and a handlebar mustache to boot. He was clad in plain clothes and not really much to look at if you were completely truthful.

You had been minding your own business in the saloon, enjoying a couple of beers, eyeing some nearby chaps who could stand to lose a penny or two, when this greasy haired little man approached you and asked you about a performance you did back in god-knows-where a couple of years ago.

“Well you see here, miss, I am looking for extraordinary and captivating performances. I have never quite seen a dance performance as beautiful and graceful as-” you cut him off abruptly,

“Get to the point.” Your voice was stern and curt as you lifted the dark bottle to your lips, enjoying the bitter liquid washing over your buds.

“I would pay you to perform with my troupe in Saint Denis for a few nights. You see, our dancer injured her ankle and the show must go on.” He chuckled nervously as he slid into the set next to you, leaning forward as if he were going to whisper. His breath was bitter and smelled of something else awful you couldn’t quite place.

“I don’t dance anymore.”

“I’ll pay you 10 percent. Everyone else earns seven.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and topped off your beer, standing to leave.

“15 percent.” Two steps towards the exit.

“17 percent!” He sounded desperate but he hadn’t reached his limit yet, you could see that much.

“25 percent.” His eyes widened, one performer would take a quarter of the proceeds? He wouldn’t sit with that.

“20 percent, the absolute most I can offer.”

You gave him a deadly sweet smile and held out a hand, “I think we have ourselves a deal, mister…?”

“Fletcher. Finneus Fletcher.” He was practically sweating as he thought about the money he lost for a single performer but hey, you never said you were an honest woman.  
“A pleasure doing business, Mister Fletcher. I’ll be retirin’ now.” He followed you part ways to the nearby hotel of Saint Denis to inform you of when and where you needed to be before wishing you a good night and finally disappearing. Finally.

Once back in your hotel you sighed and took off your boots and holster, placing your guns under your pillow for safety and laying on the rock hard bed. It was better than the wilderness if nothing else. You took deep sigh before slowing drifting into a dreamless sleep

\---

You stayed with the troupe a little over a month, you had nowhere better to be and agreed to stay for a bit longer at a slightly reduced price. Plus, you actually did enjoy performing from time to time. There was a special rush and a thrill behind others, strangers, cheering you on and throwing compliments and cheers at you. It was thrilling and you always left the stage drenched in sweat and panting but it made you feel alive if nothing else. 

“Miss Taylor, come on over here for a moment.” Mister Fletcher called you over with a flick of his wrist immediately after a show one night, two of his muscles standing beside him. What you had come to find out was he employed enough bodyguards to convince you he was not merely a performance gatherer. You got paid and didn’t ask no questions as a result. 

“Yes?” You inquired, moving closer and giving muscle number one a bit of side eye. He was looking at you funny and you didn’t like it one bit.

“We’ll be moving to a new town next week. Make sure you’re packed and ready to go.” You raised a questioning eyebrow and noticed both of the big burly ox men shift. Shit. 

“Excuse me, mister, but I rather like Saint Denis. I ain’t have no intent to leave.” Your words were firm and swift. He looked down his greasy nose at you with those tiny little eyes, a sneer on his face. 

“I don’t believe I gave you a choice, Miss Taylor. You are a part of my troupe, we had a contract and quite frankly, the crowds love you. I would be stupid to let you leave now when we have so much money left to make. Pack your bags, one of my boys here will escort you.” Like hell he would. 

You turned heel with a huff and stormed away, seemingly compliant. Muscle ox man number two practically breathed down your neck as you neared your stuff stashed in your satchel and as he was momentarily distracted by a passing brothel worker, you took the opportunity and bolted away from him, kicking dirt up behind you as high as you possibly could. You weren’t entirely sure how far you could make it but you were faster than him.  
What was even faster than you? A horse. You leapt on top of a nearby tennessee walker without it owner and almost immediately heard a man yelling after you, “Hey! That’s my horse!” That was quickly followed by a gunshot and the sound of hooves. Well shit, now you had two idiots on your tail and that was the last thing you needed right now.

“Yah!” You urged the horse on that made a loud almost confused whinny but it didn’t stop. Unfortunately, it seemed more spooked than anything and didn’t listen to your commands through the reigns. More gunshot rang in your ears and you cursed under your breath, you just couldn’t catch a break these days. 

“Miss, I suggest you return that horse before I try and shoot you for real!” The man seemed closer now and you spared a single glance over your shoulder. He was still some distance and he probably couldn’t get in a real shot. Not like you could stop even if you wanted to at this point. That’s where things really starting to go wrong.

You weren’t sure if it was a rock, a log, or if the horse was just stupid but you both went tumbling to the ground and your leg was caught underneath the giant struggling beast. It seemed worn out and unable to get up, it would likely die right on top of you with a pissed off gunman and a gang of ox men on your back. It was everything that could have gone wrong that went wrong.

“God damn it!” You yelled loudly as pain spiked up your leg and you pushed and heaved but the creature did not give way and whinnied feebly. Poor beast. You would feel bad for it if you had the time to think about a life outside of your own at the moment.

“What the hell are you thinkin’?” The gunman pulled up beside you, a nicely engraved white and black pistol pointed at your forehead. You raised your hands in surrender and looked past the gun. He was a rugged man with a pissed off expression and oh boy did you steal the wrong horse.

“You killed my horse and you gunna pay for her.” You heard shouts in the distance and blood rushed through your ears, heart about to pound out of your chest. 

“Yes! I will. I’ll pay for her but first you gotta help me up. Get me out of here and I’ll pay for her, in cash,” somehow, “but if you don’t get me out of here I am a dead woman and you are short a horse and ain’t nobody goin’ to pay you.” He didn’t seem like the nicest feller around, clearly hardened and seen stuff in his time but it was worth a shot. You could try, right?

“Nice try but you ain’t fooling me.” his gun clicked. “Now, my money, miss.”

The shouts were getting increasingly closer and you gave up, trying to push the horse off of yourself. “Please, mister, you gotta help me or they ain’t going to let me go.” You had played an innocent women and victim many times, maybe he’d go for that one.

“She over here! Boss wants her alive.” They were getting even closer and you pushed on the heavy beast with more and more vigor but she wasn’t budging, you didn’t have the leverage you needed to get her off.

He glanced behind him at a group of six or seven of Fletchers’ ox men and he scoffed. “Looks like you gotten yourself into a lick of trouble, haven’t you?” He was clearly pondering your previous words before holstering his gun and pulling the horse up with a grunt and heave of effort. Your leg throbbed as you pulled it back and jumped onto the other horse behind the rugged man who was already saddled. Your continued pursuers let off a couple of shots, aiming for your new captor or the horse but they were much too slow and the two of you lost them in no time and you groaned as the two of you stopped - for camp or execution you weren’t sure.

“Now, my money.” He was clearly disgruntled and in a bad mood and you weren’t better off. After that tumble with the horse you were covered with scratches, dried blood, and your foot may as well start to fall off it burned with pain so badly.

“Uh…” You pulled your satchel towards you, digging within the seams and folds for your money. Shit. He never paid you for tonight and you spent it all on booze and a new pistol. “I got on me five dollars.”

“You better be a magician and come up with $355 real quick there, missy.” Your eyes widened. How much for a horse?! He didn’t look like no rich man with those scrappy and tattered clothes.

“I… I don’t got anything. Tell you what, take me along with you for a bit. I’ll pay you back everything I owe you. Might take me some time but I don’t fancy being in debt.” You admitted. He eyed you with irritation and annoyance but clearly there was no better out in this kind of a situation.

“Well in that case, you’re comin’ with me until you can pay me what you owe me. You are far in debt, Miss...” 

“Elizabeth Taylor. And your name?”

“Arthur Morgan. Now don’t try any funny busy or I will shoot you myself.” He warned and stepped away to build a campfire for himself, but you sat in the grass to clean yourself up and lick your own wounds. The horse didn’t quite break it, but there was a deep flesh wound where the muscles split under the strain and it was still bleeding from earlier. Your pant leg was drenched in blood and explained your lightheadedness. Sighing, you tore the shirt you had stowed away into strips and bit down on a few of them as you began tying up your leg to stop the bleeding. 

“Here, for the pain.” Mister Morgan held a bottle of whiskey out towards you and you graciously accepted it without a question, downing as much of the bottle as possible in one gulp.  
“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You whispered as you curled up on the grass, the pain fading and he whiskey helping draw you into the darkness of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: obviously your name isn't Elizabeth. This will be explained in the next chapter. This is a reader insert.
> 
> If you liked then please tap me one of those kudos and leave a comment with what you liked or even what you want to see more of! This chapter was a bit short because I wanted to get this out but I anticipate future chapters to be longer and better written.
> 
> thy-undertaker.tumblr.com  
> I'll probably start using this again, it's really outdated tbh.


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